


drunken texts (though not what you'd expect)

by PrincezzShell101



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Awkward Conversations, Best Father of the Year Award goes to John Stilinski everyone, Drunk Stiles, Drunken Shenanigans, Family Dinner, M/M, Pining Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-06-12
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:42:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincezzShell101/pseuds/PrincezzShell101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is drunk, Derek is pining and John didn't sign up for any of this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I got this idea from one of those "hilarious texts from neighbours."
> 
> Here it is if you want to check it out: http://www.viralspell.com/your-kid-is-in-my-yard-again-not-wearing-any-pants-and-chasing-my-dog-an-instagram-page-showcases-the-most-hilariously-outrageous-of-neighbor-behavior/

John Stilinski is usually able to sleep and stay asleep undisturbed when he gets back home from his night shift. The key word being  _usually_. Tonight, he's startled out of his slumber by a text coming through to his phone. The message alert is a loud, ominous beep that shoots like a bullet to his brain and has him awakening with a grumpy, strained sigh.

"Bloody hell," he mumbles, yawn threatening to topple him over when he slowly sits up, running a hand over his face. He spots his phone on the bedside table just as the screen's light starts dying down from where it had been flashing brightly. "This better be important."

It, as it turns out, is a  _very_ important statement from his neighbour down the road. A young man who'd moved to town with his dog a couple of months ago. His name: Derek Hale.

**Your kid is in my yard again.**

John blinks once, twice, forehead scrunching as he tries to understand what he's just read.

Stiles manages to get into all sorts of trouble, it's just the way his son is. Nothing too serious, though. He's never had to arrest Stiles and he's damn well hoping he never will. But this message is slightly worrying him.

**Come on, this again?**

Because, yes, this has happened before. Not at night, to say the least but, uh… Yeah…

Stiles—and not that his son has ever told him this, he just has the extreme mystery solving senses of a cop—is harbouring a painfully clear infatuation with the local neighbour. Which, yes, understandable. The guy is built like a Calvin Klein underwear model and has a strong set jaw and cheekbones to match, along with pale sea foam eyes that are shadowed by angry eyebrows of doom. (Yep. That, at least, was something Stiles  _had_  rambled to him once when he'd stormed through the door, complaining about the, and John quotes: "The surly hot neighbour dude who never stops scowling, Dad, like his eyebrow are two giant pillars of _doom_.")

**He's not wearing any pants and he's chasing my dog.**

Okay. That? Definitely the worst John was  _not_ expecting.

**Boys will be boys, Derek.**

He knows it's a stupid reply but, really, he's tired, and honestly, it  _can't_ be as bad as Derek is making it out to be.

**Yeah, but yours is 24 and drunk.**

"Aww… crap."

***

It is. It is very bad indeed and John Stilinski takes back everything he ever said about it not being bad.

"Glad you could make it down, Sheriff," Derek says sarcastically as soon as he walks onto the driveway. He pins the younger man with a glare but it defuses almost instantly when he catches sight of the giggling—and, yes, very half-naked—form of his son running laps across Derek's lawn, Derek's husky a bleak grey and white streak zipping out in front of him.

"How long has he been like this?" he asks wearily. He hadn't changed out of his bed clothes, so he does feel a little awkward standing on his neighbour's driveway wearing only a white rumpled shirt and baggy sweatpants. Then again, he feels more embarrassed about having to come down in his PJ's to fetch his drunk, half-naked son from terrorising his neighbour's dog. No small miracles here, really.

"If you don't count the ten minutes he spent trying to lick my face, an hour and a half," Derek replies, unamused.

"Oh, Jesus," he groans. Derek makes a half-annoyed, half-understanding noise under his breath. "Well, thanks for letting me know. I'm sorry he bothered you."

"No problem, really." The sarcasm is back and John shows how hilarious he finds it. Derek just shrugs his bulky shoulders carelessly. "Cora, here girl!" he calls. The husky darts over to Derek, stopping at the man's feet, tongue lolling out and ears flopping. Stiles is right behind her.

"Cora, no, come back to Stiiiiiiiles!" he whines and John, well, he knows when to shake his head and step in.

"Leave the dog alone, son." Stiles turns to him with wide eyes, pupils dilated. "I'm here to take you home."

"But… Derek's dog likes me." Stiles pouts sadly. John doesn't have time to fall for his son's puppy eyes and clearly neither does Derek.

"It was nice talking to you, Stiles. Oh, wait. It was nice trying to fend off your tongue away from my mouth," Derek mutters sourly. Stiles has the decency to blush, which at least means he's at that stage of drunk that he's still able to feel humiliated.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "I won't try to lick your face again."

"That would be nice," Derek snaps. But John sees the red tinge of his ears from the porch light. Ha.

"C'mon Stiles, let's give Derek here some peace and quiet," he says. Stiles still doesn't look happy about leaving but the firm tone in his voice has its effect and soon his son is walking up to him, feet dragging against the ground and head held down. The term 'kicked puppy' comes to mind and has him inwardly chuckling.

"I'll see you around, Derek," he directs, taking his son by the shoulders and guiding him onto the sidewalk. Derek nods once, eyes lingering on Stiles for a few seconds—and yes, John notices where they're lingering—before heading inside with Cora at his heels.

While walking home, John braces himself before asking the question he's been meaning to ask ever since he'd seen his son frolicking on Derek's lawn in a joyous, drunken dancing spree. "Do you know where your pants are?"

Stiles stays quiet for a minute, then sighs dejectedly. "No." He raises an eyebrow and Stiles moans in despair. "I lost them."

"I can see that," he laughs softly. The rest of the walk is silent and by the time they get back home Stiles is yawning. "Get to bed, kid. I'll see you in the morning."

"'Kay, night Dad," he murmurs sleepily, shuffling up the stairs.

When John hops in bed, pulling the covers over himself, he notices his phone is flashing. He rolls his eyes and picks it up, smug smirk curving his mouth when he reads the message.

**Tell Stiles I'm sorry for the way I acted tonight. Also, his pants are at my house if he wants to come by and get them tomorrow. Good night, Sheriff.**

He falls asleep with a funny feeling that tomorrow will be filled with a lot of excited rambling from his son about his new boyfriend. And if he's already made up his _if you hurt my son, you know where my guns are_ speech, then, well, no one needs to know that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation anyone? ;)

The next morning, just like John expected, is filled with Stiles's rapturous efforts to give out each and every  _exact_ detail about Derek Hale. The wordy conversation is enough to wipe away the sleepy sheen of tiredness from John's conscience, the warm brewed coffee just a small jump-start to help him understand the fast, rambled sentences leaving his son's mouth.

"And he's also working at the hospital! He's a doctor, Dad! Do you know the kind of medical kinks doctors have!? Our sex life is going to be—"

John admits that, yes, he does block out the following parts of that sentence, only zoning back in when Stiles decides to switch the subject to Derek's dog, Cora, and how she'd been his mother's dog but had been given to him when his mother saw, over the years, how affectionate Cora was toward Derek.

"She used to crawl under his bed and wake him up every morning when he was a kid too. Can you imagine that, Dad? A husky puppy jumping all over him and licking his face!? Damn it, now I'm jealous of Cora," he whines, petulantly digging his fork into the scrambled eggs on his plate.

John closes his eyes and winces. He didn't need to know that. He really, really,  _really_ didn't need to know that his son wanted to jump on Derek Hale and lick his face.

Huh. Wait.

"Actually son, I believe you've already licked his face. Last night, if I recall," he chuckles. Stiles looks up in horror, fork slipping from his mouth and clattering to the table.

"DAD!" he splutters, bits and pieces of egg flying everywhere.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," John sighs, wiping at his face with a napkin. Stiles has the decency to look ashamed, chewing and swallowing before drinking down his whole cup of milk.

"Sorry," he admits sheepishly, picking up his dishes and unloading them in the sink. "Hey, I'm going to Derek's. I'll be back—"

"For goodness' sake, just invite him over for dinner tonight Stiles," John groans. Stiles stammers out incoherent speech for a few seconds, the plate he'd been washing almost falling to the kitchen floor.

"A-Are you sure?" Stiles wheezes, slippery hands fumbling with the plate and safely placing it back in the sink. "I mean, you don't have to do the whole 'I'm the sheriff and this is my son, better treat him right or I'll bring out the guns' shtick.  _C'mooon_. I'm twenty-four now, Dad," he complains.

John nods sagely. "Yep, you're twenty-four today. And yesterday you were twenty-four, drunk and pants-less. Care to prove your maturity a bit more?"

Stiles's right eye twitches. He points, finger wavering. "You just want to scare him."

John nods again, biting back a grin. "Yes, I do." He ignores Stiles's offended gasp and stands up, depositing his mug in the sink. "So, dinner's at six. Bring me the biggest, meatiest burger you can find and I might decide to keep my gun tucked away from sight at the table," he teases in warning.

"Dad,  _no_!No, nope! You can't just bribe me into—into letting you cheat your diet just so you don't scare off my boyfriend!"

John turns around, eyebrows raised. "Oh, so he's your boyfriend now, huh?"       

Stiles's own eyebrows narrow. "You knew that, old man. I see right through your scheme."

"Oh really now," John chuckles.

"Yes really." Stiles puffs his chest out, putting all the dishes on the drying rack. "After all, you did learn from the best."

John coughs, trying to come up with a response while Stiles just saunters away with a pleased smile on his face.

***

John's not surprised when Stiles comes back that night, late by ten minutes of course, with Derek in tow and a takeaway bag shoved under one arm. The other arm is thrown over Hale's shoulders as he leads him inside and John notices Derek is actually looking nervous, such a change from how he'd been yesterday.

Stiles spots him sitting at the table instantly and his face sets into a mask of almost brave determination. "Burger's in the bag. No meat. Veggie," he announces in full, bright confidence.

John pulls it toward him when Stiles puts it down in front of him, opening the bag and taking out the burger. It is veggie, just like he  _hadn't_ ordered. "Son, I thought I told you to get me a meat burger."

"And I thought I told you there was no way you were bribing me into letting you cheat your diet," Stiles bites back, smirking.

"Bribe?" Derek squeaks out breathlessly. John's sure it sounds like a quieter version of a _HELP ME_ noise. Ha.

"Don't worry Der, Dad's not going to win this one," Stiles says, patting Derek's back. John catches the sly wink his son sends him and huffs.

"You say it like I've lost before," he murmurs smugly. Derek's eyes widen at that one and John realises that he doesn't actually need a gun to scare the man, after all.

"Yeah, well, today might be my lucky day," Stiles quips, sitting down. Derek follows, taking the seat beside him. "Dad, mind passing me the bag?"

John raises an eyebrow, ducking his hand back into the bag and finding curly fries at the bottom along with a bacon and cheese burger. "Ah, so I'm guessing the fries are yours and the burger is Derek's?" he asks sweetly. Stiles's eyes bulge.

"Dad, no. Give me the fries," he begs.

"Here you are Derek, enjoy." He passes the burger to Derek, nodding at the man when Derek says thank you softly. He keeps the curly fries to himself, though.

"Dad,  _please_. I need my fries. Give them to meeeee," Stiles whimpers, making grabby hands as John pops one into his mouth, moaning in delight.

"You got some nice ones, son. Juicy, mm, and curled just the way you like them," he teases. Stiles's face is priceless and his fingers are clenching around the edge of the table as he breathes heavily.

"You're killing me here, Dad. Please, please,  _please_ give me my babies," he pleads in despair. Derek, who's chewing on a bite of his burger, side-eyes Stiles strangely.

"Son, I think you're starting to scare your boyfriend," John chuckles.

Stiles gasps. "That was  _your_ job!"

Three things happen in uncanny succession.

Derek drops his burger, mouth open mid-bite.

Stiles lunges across the table, snatching the curly fries from John with a loud crow of, "Ah-HA!"

John asks Derek, pleasantly ignorant of Stiles munching on his fries with a grumpy, well-trained eye on him, "So, Derek, how's life treating you?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly this is the last part to this one-shot, but I am pretty happy with how it all turned out. Thank you to the lovely and kind amount of feedback I've received! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is for Emela who kindly hinted at me a while ago that I should do a chapter in Stiles's pov where he's drunk in Derek's yard. I finally finished it. Yay :D

Stiles isn't sure where he is. He knows it's a street. He knows it's in Beacon Hills. On the contrary, he has not the faintest clue where his own house, let alone his own  _street_ is from where he's drunkenly stumbling along the sidewalk.

"Tree one, two tree, tree three—oooh, puppy!"

He stops counting trees to pay close attention to the house in front of him which has a dog in its backyard. It's a big one. Furry.  _Super_ cute.

Stiles wants it.

"C'mere puppy," he coos, ambling up toward the wire fence, so past being drunk that he doesn't even remember that he's trespassing on another person's property. Considering his father is the sheriff, what he's doing is  _definitely_ a cringe-worthy crime.

The dog, on closer inspection, is not just big but  _huge_. A husky. Its fur looks soft and cuddly, ears pointed right up in attention as it curiously surveys Stiles's every move.

"Oh my God, you're so cute,  _shit_ ," he squeals, suddenly getting the uncontrollable urge to clap his hands. He does.

This causes the dog to freak the fuck out.

"No, no, no! Shhh! Bad puppy!" he hisses, waving his hands around in the air spastically. The dog continues to bark, jumping up against the fence with its tongue lolling out like it wants to play.

Stiles nearly face-plants when he realises that there's now a light on in the house and that he is sooooooo dead.

It's at, of course, that exact moment that the dog decides to make a giant leap over the fence, knocking him flat on his back.

" _Hey_!" a voice bellows. It sounds like the person is angry. Oh no, no oh, no, no, oh, oh no—

"I didn't do it! It wasn't me! Go away! Ah, fuck, ha, stop licking me!"

He's lying on the ground, limbs twisted, spitting out grass and dirt while trying to move his head away from the dog (who's very happily licking his cheek) when he sees two feet in his line of vision.  _Heh_. _Nice feet_. He follows the feet up to meet the face of said angry person who yelled out to him, tongue lolling out from where he'd been trying to get a blade of grass out from stuck between his teeth. "Uh. Pfft! Pfft! Bleh! Yuck! Hey! Um, I'm—"

"On private property."

"…Huh?" Stiles blinks, finally managing to get the blade of grass out of his teeth. But  _man_ , now it's just stuck to his upper lip. Also, the dog just nearly put its tongue down his throat. Gross.

Mr. Grumpy obviously doesn't care about that, though. "You're on my lawn. On my property. Private property."

"Uh…" Now that Stiles has had a good minute or so to look at him, he starts to realise that  _whoa_ , the dude is  _smokin'_ —and not just from rage. Nope. Nah-uh. The guy is seriously the epitome of beauty. Like, who told him he could be so gorgeous? Unfair.

Mr. Grumpy's mouth is moving again but Stiles doesn't hear a word. He's more focused on trying to decide what colour the guy's eyes are. Are they brown, green, blue? Who knows!

"Hey!"

"Yes! I mean, um, no?" Stiles quickly stands up, the dog backing off and sitting at its owner's feet. The guy rests a hand on the dog's head, scratching it behind the ear while still glaring at Stiles.

"What do you think you're doing with my dog?" he snaps. On normal non-drunken circumstances, Stiles would have started off on his rant over the guy's rudeness with an _excuuuuse you_. But he's a lot out of it so yeah, his brain has a meltdown moment and his mouth just can't compute with a single word let alone, y'know, multiple  _words_.

" _Well_?" he snaps. Stiles just continues to stare. " _Ugh_. Look—"

Mr. Grumpy doesn't get to finish that sentence because his dog, out of nowhere, lunges forward and gets a hold of Stiles's pants in its teeth, pulling with such a force the pants rip right down the leg seams.

"Son of a bi—!" he curses, flailing his arms like a pinwheel and falling on his butt. Half-naked because his pants are now hanging out of the dog's mouth, the material tattered in  _so_ many places.

"Cora!" the man yells, voice booming. Oh, good Lord. Stiles just whimpers along with the dog. 'Cause like… HOT. DAMN. That is the sexiest agro voice he has  _ever_ heard.

"So hot," Stiles whines sadly.

"… _What_."

Stiles ignores the irritated glare that Mr. Grumpy's giving him. "You're like, uh, unfairly attractive and I really wish I could kiss you. Yeah. I want to kiss you. Can I? Please."

"That's not going to be happening, Stiles."

"How do you know my name?  _You know my_ _name_!?" Stiles yelps.

Mr. Grumpy apparently has no other facial expression other than his classic one by the name of _I am not amused_. "You live up the road from me. We've met before."

"We… have?" Stiles frowns. " _Really_? Cos like, I swear I'd remember a face like yours if I'd seen it… y'know… before, and stuff…"

"Being drunk usually doesn't help with remembering things," Mr. Grumpy intones.

Mr. Grumpy is very perceptive.

"Right," he says, nodding. "I am drunk so I do not remember your grumpy, handsome face."

"Right," Mr. Grumpy says, slightly sarcastic.

"So, can I get a name? That I obviously don't remember. You're kind of 'Mr. Grumpy' in my head right now." Stiles picks at his shirt, looking up again to see the man's eyebrows raised. "Is it actually… that?" he squawks in awe.

"It's Derek," the man—Derek—sighs.

"Derek. Deeeeeerek.  _Der_ ek. Der _ek_.  _Derek_. I like it." Stiles grins. "It's sexy. Like you… and your face."

"Okay."

"That I want to lick."

 " _No_."

"…Yeah. I'm going to lick it."

" _Stiles_ , no. What are you—"

"…"

"… _What_  are you doing."

"…Licking your face."

"I can feel that.  _Stop_. _It_."

"Mmmm… You taste like old spice. Smell good too.  _Fuck_."

"…That better not be what I think it is."

"Um. Heh. Oops."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you Em for giving me the motivation and idea to make a third chapter <3 
> 
> Also, this is now officially a completed story.


End file.
